


lover, i am hurting (bridges, they are burning)

by zhovel



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2012, Angst, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, im not proud of this it's too personal, projection amirite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 02:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14323083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhovel/pseuds/zhovel
Summary: They tear you apart with their hungry eyes and frantic fingers and you're wrenched away from him, aching, raw.-(Trying to cope.)





	lover, i am hurting (bridges, they are burning)

Three-thirty, and the street burns white lights into your room. 

 

Phil’s next to you, but it’s not enough.

 

Never is. 

 

-

 

“Delete it,” you say, not the good kind of quiet. It’s all you want. Erase the fragile relationship you’ve built with him in the space of three years, let the universe grow bigger and bigger until it swallows every trace of how much you’ve wanted him whole- that way, you don’t have to face anything. 

 

They tear you apart with their hungry eyes and frantic fingers and you're wrenched away from him, aching, raw. 

 

He shoves his laptop to the side, rough. “Don’t you think I’m trying, Dan?” He spits the last word out as if it was venom. In a way, it is; the taste lingering on your tongue instead of his. You hate the way you love it. You love the way you hate it. 

 

“Try harder then,” you say, practiced indifference masking everything you want to say. He can’t know. He doesn’t understand why you lie awake at night, he doesn’t understand how you crave his lips brushing your knuckles like he used to do when you first met him on that stupid train station. And you don’t want him to get it, because it’ll get out; and you’ll ruin yourself with your pretty bloodshot eyes and the way you bit your lip raw. 

 

Someday it’ll consume you, you think, how much you need him. 

 

-

 

You don’t even know how to act when you go out with your friends. (And him, of course, because you’re never apart even when the sky splits the two of you open like how you ripped the contents of your childhood diary open and threw them into the fireplace. Watched the pages burn.)

 

Every word he says echoes around the empty spaces between you and him. 

 

“-you too, Dan?”

 

“What?”

 

“Pasta, right?”

 

It’s the first time he’s spoken to you in a few days. You shrug. 

 

You wish you’d talk, but you don’t know boundaries like you should and you’re scared you’re doing the wrong thing by staying away. You feel him slipping through- feel you splitting into pieces of before and now. 

 

A kid with shaggy hair and a face that says I’m loved; a man with tired eyes and a half-smile that says I can’t be loved by anyone. You're the in-betweens and all the pieces of insanity you breathe. 

 

He was 21 when you stumbled across him and 22 when you started talking. 23 when you told him, I’m in love with you and 24 when he kissed you. 25 when you tried to kill yourself, when he pretended he wasn’t in love with you. 

 

Because, you answered when he asked why. Before and afters and his name in the back of your throat like a hand clamped over the barrel of a gun that should have gone off, didn’t go off. 

 

But you’re here, he says. You’re here and you’re alive and you can’t leave me alone again, I won’t let you. 

 

-

 

Sometimes the intensity of your emotions catches you by surprise, they do. You’re used to seeing in monochrome until one thing gets too many so all the things you feel splotches across your arms in blue and you hate it, hates the word colour and hates the way he makes you feel. 

 

You’re alive. You don’t want to be, don’t think you are because ghosts leave handprints all over the places where your ribs jut out. You hate how you don’t seem good enough for anybody and how you still want, because you’re too attached to people for your own good. 

 

He sits down across from you. “It’s not your fault,” he says, voice soft and broken in all the wrong places. You don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve shit. 

 

“Not your fault,” he repeats when the silence drags on for too long. “It’s just this thing we gotta make through, okay?  We’ll fucking make it.”

 

You look up when he swears, because you don’t trust yourself with your faults and your mistakes, but you’d put your heart in his hands if it meant he’d be happy.

 

And you love him. 

 

Still.

 

Living for someone isn’t healthy, your childhood best friend used to say, but she’s not here now. And living for someone is the best you can do. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from another sad love song by khalid. written for @marigoldan in the phandom easter gift exchange.


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